Disclaimer: Do I look like Joss? I can guarantee you I'm not, so please don't sue me. You won't get anything besides a shiny nickel!
A/N
This is version 2.0. I promise it's better than the first one. This
time I had help, so ladies and gentlemen, ON WITH THE
SHOW:)
-
May
21st, 2005
It was anything but a normal day at casa Summers. Buffy rolled over in bed three times before finally smashing the snooze button on her alarm clock. Of every day out of the year, this one she dreaded most- that oh so horrible day called... Her birthday! Now of course most young adults love their birthdays but not this slayer! Buffy's birthday had always been marked with very much demon killing and the worst disasters thus far of any calendar year. Buffy wanted nothing more than to delay the inevitable for eternity as Dawn plodded softly onto her sister's bed blurting out in innocent joy, "It's happy birthday Buffy!" The slayer heroine simply groaned, burrowing the liquid gold that topped her head beneath her pillow. In a characteristic pouty face, Dawn queried, "Not happy birthday Buffy?" The slayer unearthed her head from the pillows just long enough to catapult one Mr. Gordo whom she had been clutching feverishly all night straight at the whining little brat now daring to wake her on this most awful-est of days. "I guess I should be used to that by now, but that's no excuse! Up you get broody bones!" Dawn ordered, trying to rise above her default whiny setting.
Twenty minutes later, despite what seemed like hours of protest, Buffy finally graced the Summers kitchen with her half demonic presence. "Not such a good morning I guess?" called Willow from behind the stove. Buffy grunted and then fell into the kitchen chair, half expecting a bowl of cereal to magically appear before her. As if reading Buffy's mind, Tara prepared a light breakfast as quickly and gently as possible. Buffy cast a small pity party frown upon her cereal, desperately longing to drift off into the happy zone, plopping her face limply into the mixture of milk and Captain Crunch cereal. Willow would see no such thing allowed. As usual, it became her unspoken mission to cheer Buffy up. "I'll bet I know someone who can cheer you up," Willow squeaked as she sauntered gingerly toward the staircase.
4-21-05
one
month earlier...
A
thin beam of eerie moonlight pierced the thin veil of cloud that
blanketed the night sky over South America's Parana River. Riley and
Sam Finn had been drifting uneasily toward a Pol'gara distress call
in the village of Golanla aboard a local riverboat. Riley was
breathing deeply now, trying desperately to clear his head after an
exhausting bout with his wife, but he could think only of a blonde
haired girl and a place called Sunnydale. Visions of this girl
overran his mind, as if there were nothing else present for his
synaptic impulses to feed on, as if there were no Sam. Riley had
been at vain war with himself, trying to forget his Sunnydale Angel.
At present, however he found love a hard thing to break, and so the
little boat slid softly down water into a foreboding silence.
Golanla was nearing now, but this even the boat's captain barely
knew. Sam sat bolt upright in the bed where Riley had been.
Something was horribly wrong. She bounded over the cheap swaying
footboard and stopped just long enough to withdraw her favorite
battle axe from the marital weapons chest that rested next to the now
empty bed. "And this was supposed to be our second honeymoon,"
she thought in utter disgust and annoyance just before forcing open
the screen door, which was half eaten by the very insects it was
intended to keep out. As she did this, Riley let out a strangely
feminine shriek, collapsing onto the deck. Sam's adrenalin circuits
went into overdrive. Without thinking she dashed to her husband's
side, hacking down anything in her way-in this instance, a single
very unhappy Pol'gara demon who nearly fell on his own skewer. It
took only a few seconds for Sam to realize what had happened, seeing
the blood stained Pol'gara appendage and the quarter sized entry
wound in her husband's shoulder. That few seconds, however, would be
all that Samantha Finn was allotted, for she had failed to take note
of a second Pol'gara demon that had semi-silently lept onto the
bunkhouse roof. She would see nothing more than the front edge of a
skewer painfully spiking through her gut. What would have been a
rather red deck was now accentuated by the ever increasing moonlight.
Clouds seemed to fade into the spirit realm and for whatever reason,
Gram awoke. He had unsurprisingly slept through the entire ordeal
but now stirred uneasily in his bed as a rather strange feeling came
over him. He could not quite place it, but now that he was awake,
our hero Gram was paranoid. He sat up slowly, trying to grasp the
two-handed blade that had slept next to him all night. His clutch
slipped around the hilt as he clumsily fell to the ground with a
thud. "Talk about rude awakenings," he muttered. Now wide
awake, Gram soundlessly crept through the door of his quarters, and
onto the deck. What he saw there would change his world forever.
He knew that in the deepest part of his mind, but at that moment his
mind could only process one thing...
Riley-on-the-ground-covered-in-blood.
The very thought numbed Gram's utterly unique mental sloth. This of course resulted in the all to human jaw drop reflex. "Must...get to...Riley," he thought. As soon as the thought hit him, Gram's mental speed picked up, and he was able to move again, but it was only after picking up his outrageously stretched jaw that Gram finally made the instinctive dash toward his best friend. His heart pounding and his feet bounding across the deck, our hero managed to trip over the conveniently placed corpse of Sam Finn. Riley was right there, so it took Gram a moment to realize what he had stumbled across. Gram felt for his friend's pulse. It was there, and surprisingly strong for that of a Pol'gara victim. Gram quickly moved his hand back to Sam, just to be safe, but it was indeed too late for Mrs. Riley Finn. Without thinking, Gram stood up slowly, lifting Sam's body as he went. He gave a short wince, but it was for no physical pain. "It's for the best," he consoled himself, "Riley didn't need to see her like that." With these thoughts, Sam Finn's body was committed to the Paranna River, and Gram hurriedly produced the ship's medicine chest.
"Well Riley, it's been fantastic, I've loved you a lot over the past three years, and some part of me always will. I'd love to say that you felt the same way, but I can't. I know you loved me at some point to some large degree, but we both know... You've never quite gotten over Buffy. I'll never intentionally forget you, but at the same time, I can't take any more of this. You've begun anew with obsessing over that Sunnydale slayer. I don't blame you. After all, what reasonable woman could? In any case, we both know how you feel, so there's no point in simply going through the motions. I wish you all the best. May you find whatever it is you seek,
Love always,
Sam"
Riley read this from his blatantly non-descript hospital bed. Reflexive tears began to drown out his eyes as he hysterically accepted the note's every implication. "Wow," Gram thought as he pondered the death-defying choice to enter Riley's room, "I didn't know I was that convincing, but it's for the best anyway." Gram stopped short of grasping the door knob. "Naa," he said to himself, "I'd better let Riley alone."
FLASHBACK
Riley lay in his hospital bed, solemnly musing the past weeks. "I guess I never did, did I?" he said hoarsely to himself. He couldn't stop thinking about Sam's letter, but more importantly, he couldn't stop thinking about Buffy... Sam was right. He had to see her. The endless dreams of his blonde, butt-kicking beauty were driving Riley quite mad.
That was Saturday; that was then, but presently Riley's belongings were already loaded onto his transport. He was of course, California-bound.
Also April 21, 2005...
As Riley began his journey toward Sunnydale, so did others...
Spike sat deep within petty thought. As he swiveled in Angel's personal chair in Angel's personal office in Angel's Investigations, he couldn't fathom, "Why in the bloody hell am I working for the sodin' poof?
FLASHBACK
"Hey she bloody well snogged me, the best damned night of my unlife! But, then, oh bugger that, the worst morning ever!" Suddenly a torrent of angry blonde hair, seemingly bound together in fury by flaring hazel shaded emeralds, burst through the door of Spike's old crypt. "Ello luv, how's the--" "Shove it Spike!" "Did I miss somethin' Buff?" "Yea, maybe just a little something, I'M NOBODY'S LUV! Last night was a mistake, and it's time one of us left town!" "Well luv, I don't think it's come to that, no need for you to skip out on the old goody-two-shoes bit. We can work this out pet..." "You know something Spike, you're absolutely right. We can work this out--" "Now see poppet, I knew last night wasn't so bad, maybe ya just need some, ya know bloody space for a while. Tell ya what, you run off home, get yaself a nice bit o' rest, and we'll sus this mess out later..." "Leave Spike!" "Well, uh, ya know, that'll take time, and a bit more compensation, seein' as I've grown rather attached to the old place here..." "Tell it to somebody who cares Spike, or would you rather I just dusted your Billy Idol ass right here?" "Now, now, no need to get with pointies, a bit pushy ain't ye there?" Buffy seized Spike's guitar, the same from the previous night, smashed it on the table's edge, and drew the sharper point toward Spike's chest. "Now ain't that a twist? What else is new? They ask ya to play nice, and ye go straight to the sharp bloody hell wood!" "Ya, who'd a thought, just not one for pleasantries. Now hit the road or hit the dust!" "You wouldn' do that poppet and it scares ya cause everybody in this buggered place knows it, but you win, I'll pack my things and I'll sod off down the road. Later luv, we'll see ya 'gain."
"Well I think it's bloody well time the big bad made good on that promise. Hey Harm, tell soulboy I'm off to good ol' Sunnyhell!" "But Spikey, I'll miss you, and anyways, we just got a call, Gunn needs back up." "Don't push me poppet, tell Gunn and any bloody body else to sod off, got it?" Harmony, her face fully pouted, turned her back to bid Spike farewell.
Angel was within himself. All day long, he had brooded, "Buffy's birthday is next month." Naturally, he couldn't stop thinking about his girl, and for that matter, couldn't think of much else. He thoughtfully fingered the twin Claudda rings as they dangled about his neck, seeming to increase in weight with every step he took. Angel of course, walked the sewers. "Now where's that classically dumb demonic population that always manages to find me when I'm NOT looking for it?" Angel hadn't stopped brooding. He was like a machine gun, ready to fully unload all of his worries upon the next living thing that crossed his path. He didn't have to wait long. Just as Angel was wrapping his brain around some vague shred of thought, what felt like a mountain of sludge rammed him from behind. Angel did a record breaking horrible swan dive into the nearest wet wall. After recomposing himself, Angel whipped around, fully vamped out, and plunged his favorite broad sword into a spongy red mountain. Slosh Scalding red goop splattered all over Angel. "Lovely, the super fast heap of slime called a chaos demon." No sooner had the thought finished its mental circuit than Angel noticed the unmistakable echo of footsteps issuing from behind the massive demon. Suddenly, Twack and another Slosh. "Ya'know, I REEEEEEEAAALY didn't ask for shower of bleedy muck this evenin'..." The chaos demon crashed to the ground, what little light there was glinting upon the two broad swords portruding from either side of the monstrous beast. The two slowly glanced up, catching each other's eyes. "Awww bloody hell! It's you! Well next time, why don't ya try tellin' me 'bout this sorta thing Peaches? Underneath his fabulous new make up, Angel cracked a smile, unintentionally tasting the vile substance, then phasing into a familiarly twisted laugh. Spike beamed. "Oh, this is bloody perfect. Do I need to call Red again?" Angel simply droned on in laughter, his face set into a deeply hallucinogenic stare. "Okay poofter, shall we stand 'round here he-hawing all night? Or would'ya mind gettin' out'a here? Angel fell silent as he glided over to Spike. "So, Spike, to what on earth do I owe this distinct displeasure?" "Well, ya'know, figured I'd drop by Sunnydale for'a bit, see an old pal..." He choked out the last word as Angel clutched Spike's jugular. "This 'pal' of yours wouldn't happen to be a certain blonde slayer would it!" Angel hissed." "Well, ya'konw Peaches, see the old haunts en all..." Spike choked again as the vice around his throat tightened. "Okay, you should know by now: One: Don't EVER call me PEACHES! and Two: You don't come with in a 100 mile radius of Buffy if I can help it, EVER!" Well, mate, ya'can't help this'n, so sod the bloody hell off got it?" Oddly enough, Angel relaxed his grip, inhaling a false breath for calmness' sake. "Right! That's settled then, let's go!" "Who in the bloody hell said anything about Mr. Peaches comin'long?" Spike smirked. "I did!" Angel glowered. And so it was that the unlikely duo set off, Spike muttering constant discontent several yards behind a very broody Angel.